


shiny people somewhere else

by irishmizzy



Category: American Idol RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, F/M, RPF
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-07-24
Updated: 2010-07-24
Packaged: 2017-10-10 19:06:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,074
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/103131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irishmizzy/pseuds/irishmizzy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four universes where they might have fallen in love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	shiny people somewhere else

**Author's Note:**

> So incredibly untrue, no disrespect, etc.

**i. i've never known what's good for me**

Sometimes David likes to imagine that, years from now, this whole saga will be something he tells his kids. He'll start out with how it was like a scene from a movie -- you know, where the guy sees the girl across the crowded room, turns to his buddy and says, "See that girl? I'm going to marry her someday."

Because that's pretty much what happened, except in real life, David only got the first part out before Andy was tapping the girl on the shoulder, saying, "Haaaave you met Dave?" and sliding away. And instead of falling instantly in love with him, she threw a drink in his face.

It's still a good story, though. He'll definitely tell it to his kids, because he's going to want to tell them all about how he met their mother.

Somewhere in the middle, the story'll go like this:

Everyone -- okay, so mainly Neal -- said that going after Carrie again was a huge mistake, but the thing about mistakes is that sometimes, even when you know something's a mistake, you have to make it anyway.

(David had come to this conclusion last night, when Carrie had come to pick him up after his best friend's stupid fiancee who doesn't even deserve to be named stranded him on the side of the road in East Bumblefuck, and sure, there were a whole list of reasons he and Carrie could never work (starting with how they'd tried it already, months ago and David had blown it, and ending with -- to quote Carrie last night, on the long drive home -- "Lasagna? Barf." How could David ever marry a girl who says that? That was practically a dealbreaker) but then Carrie'd showed him her atrocious new perm just to make him feel better about the whole night, because she was one of his best friends in the whole world, and, well, he'd realized right then that he wasn't over her. Not even a little bit.)

And that was what David told everyone, this time for Andy's benefit, since he hadn't been around last night when David told Neal and then had to sit through the subsequent forty-five minute rant that was mostly, "Oh, come _on_, again? This is a huge mistake, Dave," on repeat.

"So," David said, laying it all out there.

"Carrie _again_?" Andy asked, exasperated. "David, the universe clearly does not want you two to be together. Don't piss off the universe. The universe _will_ slap you." Next to him, Neal nodded.

David rolled his eyes. He was pretty sure the universe has better things to do than worry about him and Carrie.

"Guys," he said seriously, "I know we've been down this road before. But the fact is, whatever I do? It all just keeps coming back to Carrie. I have to do this. OW! What the --"

"That wasn't me," Andy said, shaking the sting out of the hand he just slapped David with. "That was the universe."

"How many more times are you going to watch this crash and burn before you say enough?" Neal added.

"One. One more time -- one more big, romantic gesture and if she says yes, great. If she says no, that's it. I'm done pursuing Carrie forever."

**

Neal hadn't thought David could ever top the whole stealing-the-blue-French-horn thing he did after his first date with Carrie, all those months ago. But, standing in Carrie's living room with blue string quartet behind him and dozens of red roses everywhere, David felt pretty confident he'd blown the stolen French horn out of the water. He sent a picture to Neal, just for proof.

_you're a fucking woman_ Neal texted back. David's thumb was hovering over the keypad to type a response when the kid with the cello -- Kyle? David thought that was his name -- cleared his throat and said, "Uh, we're pretty hungry. When do we get our pizza?"

David glared at him. It was like the thirteenth time the kid had asked about his goddamn pizza, like that was the reason they were all here. It was a romantic gesture, not a fucking pizza party, Jesus Christ.

"Later," David said. "Just... Be quiet."

He was about to start pacing Carrie's apartment again -- he'd used her emergency spare key to let everyone in and set up, thinking she'd be home in twenty minutes, but she must've taken a detour or something after work because it had been a while and holy crap, none of them were getting any younger -- when he heard someone fumbling around in the hallway. He managed to grab a bouquet just in time, before Carrie opened the door and the strings started up and he said, "Hi."

"Hi?" Carrie took a cautious step into her own apartment, which David understood -- it was probably pretty overwhelming. In an awesome way.

He took a deep breath -- here goes -- and said, "Carrie? I've sort of said this already -- I've half-said it. I've implied it? I've -- I don't know. Just. Whatever. This is me, saying it, with strings. I'm crazy about you, and I think we should be together. What do you say?"

Through his whole speech, he watched her face, the emotions playing over it, how she looked happy and sad and scared and overwhelmed and a million other things he didn't have time to pick out. When he ended, she seemed stuck on amazed.

"Yes," she said. Then, "No. I don't know."

David blinked. "Those... are the options."

She laughed a little, and looked around the room. "David, this is _insane_. I -- I just got home and there's a string quartet and --" she dropped her voice to a whisper, "I have to pee."

"Oh," David said. "Oh. Well, go ahead. We'll wait."

The musicians stopped playing as soon as Carrie left the room.

"Yeah, 'cause when we talked, you said there'd be pizza," Kyle said. David shut him up with a glare and a mental promise that he'd spit on any and all pizza he bought for the goddamn string quartet.

When Carrie got back, he told the music guys to take five and then Carrie heaved a huge sigh and set into this whole speech about how they wanted different things, they tried and it hadn't worked. "What if it doesn't work again and I lose you as a friend?" she asked, her voice small. "I have to think about this."

"Okay," David said, "Fine, think about it on the plane. Let's go to Paris for the weekend."

Carrie looked at him like he just asked her to play Russian roulette, so he said, "I'm kidding!" Except he wasn't at all. "No, I'm serious, let's go to Paris."

Carrie laughed. "I can't go to Paris," she said, "I'm going camping."

David made a face. Her work had planned this camping trip for a while now, but last David heard there was a storm front moving in and the thing had been canceled. "I thought it was canceled," he said.

Carrie shrugged. "It's back on."

David frowned. Well that sucked. Especially since Carrie's coworker, that moron Mike, had been asking Carrie out for a million years now, and this trip -- motherfucker, David didn't need to think about that. Not now. Preferably not ever.

"Don't go," he said simply.

It was Carrie's turn to frown. "I can't not go. It's a work trip."

"Really? 'Cause it sounds like a date. With Mike."

Carrie laughed and told him it wasn't, but when David pressed it she caved and said, "I don't know."

David blinked. How did you not know this kind of thing? It was or it wasn't. "Well are you going to hook up with him?" he asked.

It was one of those things that came out before he could stop it, and then he couldn't get it back, and he wasn't even sure if he regretted asking it all that much, at least not until Carrie said, "I don't know!" her voice going all high and desperate, and something deep inside him broke into a thousand pointy shards.

"You see, David, I don't plan out every second of my life like you do."

"I don't plan --"

"Oh really?" Carrie laughed and pointed at the flowers all over her apartment. "What's all this? Why can't you just say 'Hey, Carrie, let's get some sushi!'? No, it has to be a string quartet and Paris and 'let's spend the rest of our lives together!'"

David scoffed. "Don't you think we're a little beyond sushi?" Because they were. Sushi was a first date for people who didn't know each other at all, had never met. David knew everything about her, had for months now, and he didn't want fucking _sushi_, he wanted something real, something meaningful.

"God, Carrie, you are so terrified of anything _real_ \-- live in the world. Make a mistake, Carrie. Make _this_ mistake."

It was weird, because one minute he was in the middle of the most romantic thing he'd ever done in his entire life, and the next he was standing there, yelling at the girl he was in love with. And she was five seconds from crying. Awesome. This was going really fucking great. Pat him on the fucking back.

"I need to think about this," she said.

David almost gave in -- it was right on the tip of his tongue, the "Fine, take all the time you need, I'll be here, waiting," except he was sick of that, sick of being the guy on the sidelines. When was his chance?

"No," he said. "I need an answer."

"I -- I can't say yes right now," Carrie said, her voice thick with tears. And just like that, the apartment had gotten infinitely quieter.

"If it's not yes, then it's a no," David said, like maybe she didn't understand what she was saying.

Carrie looked up, right at him, her jaw set. "Then I guess it's not meant to be."

**

Later, at the bar, the guys tried to comfort him with pats on the back and bottomless pints.

"Hey, on the bright side, now you know her choice and you can finally move on," Monty said helpfully.

"Screw it," David said, "this isn't over."

Everyone groaned. Monty dropped his forehead onto the table and Neal said, "You sat here, in this very bar, and you promised --"

"Fuck that. So what if she says it isn't meant to be. Because you know what, it _is_ meant to be. Because I mean it."

He left them sitting at the table, probably arguing over who had to chase him down and talk some sense into him. He figured Andy lost, because it was Andy who showed up at the bar next to him thirty seconds later.

"Dave, she is going on her camping trip. Barring some act of God, Carrie's gonna be with Mike this weekend."

Frankly, David thought he should get some sort of medal of honor for not hauling off and punching him right there. But that was only because the TV over the bar had been tuned to the Weather Channel, and that gave him an idea.

"Fine," he said, staring at the TV and it's stupid blue skies all weekend! forecast. "If an act of God is what it takes, than an act of God it shall be."

Andy sputtered for a second. "What the fuck --"

"I'm gonna make it rain." That would keep Carrie from going camping with Mike.

"David, do you want me to slap you again? Because that was kind of fun the first time."

David ignored him. "I don't care how crazy it sounds, because I have a plan! And it is going to work!"

Andy raised one eyebrow, a silent _go on_, and David said, "Remember that guy I used to know? The one who was getting his PhD in Native American culture? I'm going to call him. And he's going to teach me a rain dance."

"A rain dance?" Andy asked. David nodded. "A rain dance? A dance to make it rain."

David nodded again and Andy reached out and slapped him. He slapped Andy back, and then it was a flurry of limbs as they smacked at each other. The whole time, Andy yelled about how it was a ridiculous plan, they were not going to do this, no they were not.

"Yes, we are!" David yelled back. He stopped flailing at Andy and stormed out of the bar. Behind him, Andy made an aggravated noise.

"David!" he yelled, following hot on his heels, "You are forcing me to be the voice of reason and it's _not_ a good look for me."

**

So it was kind of a battle to get Archie to help them with the whole rain dance thing -- "Uh, you know that it's not, like, a --" he'd stammered. "The traditional rain dance is a sacred prayer to the gods. I don't think -- uh, I don't think they'd really, you know, appreciate you using it for... for _that_."

"Arch." David had leaned forward in his chair, extra close, and said, "This isn't just for some random girl. This is the girl that I love. And if it doesn't rain this weekend, then she's going to end up with the wrong guy."

Archie'd fidgeted in his chair, passing his pen back and forth between his hands. "Please," David'd said, a little desperately, but fuck it, this was his last resort, and then Archie'd sighed and said, "I'm in," -- but he came around eventually, just like David knew he would.

And that was how they ended up on the roof of David's apartment, Archie kicking his legs and waving his arms, motioning for David to do the same. Andy sat in a patio chair to the side, drinking and making a million unhelpful comments.

"Dave, this is funny," he said, looking at his watch while David hopped in a circle, bending his arms and making jazz hands. "Still funny. Still fun --aaand now it's sad."

David would've flipped him off, but knowing his luck that was something displeasing to the rain gods and then there wouldn't be rain for another sixty years or something. He settled for mentally flipping Andy off instead.

"Hey, Arch, does this look right?" David asked, panting a little. Rain dances were fucking exhausting.

"I think so," Archie said. He crouched down closer to the ground and hummed to himself, like he was trying to see if David's feet were following the right rhythm or something.

"Well does it look like the other rain dances you've seen?"

"Does it look like a real rain dance?"

Archie scratched his head. "I, uh, I think so?"

"Hey, Arch? Have you ever actually _seen_ a rain dance before?"

"... No?"

David stopped dancing. Dammit, he should've known -- like the chicken dance was really part of the rain dance, god, how stupid _was_ he? Archie was waving his arms helplessly, saying something about reading extensively on the subject, and once he saw a filmstrip, but all David could think was fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

**

Archie left after that, and David sulked for a good five minutes before he thought that he might as well. Because really, what other options did he have at that point? An act of God, right?

"Hey Dave, whatcha doin'?" Andy asked from where he was slumped bonelessly against the wall.

"A rain dance," David said, determined. He tried to remember the steps Archie had shown him. Left, hop, right, hop, right right, turn. Arms back and forth like the running man.

"That's not a rain dance, that's Pinocchio with a wedgie."

"I doubt the great spirits are sticklers for choreography," David gritted out, punching at the sky and pivoting like Archie had. "It's the thought that counts."

"Dude, she's leaving in half an hour," Andy said, standing up. "It's never gonna work. Why are you still doing this?"

"Because _I love her_," David said, stopping the dance. "I love her -- I told her that the first time we went out and it's still true now. So. Yeah, I know this isn't going to work, but it has to work." He looked up at the sky. "You hear me?" he yelled at no one, at everyone. His own voice sounded so foreign to his ears, desperate and pathetic and raw. Even Andy had to walk away, like he couldn't bear looking at David like this.

"You hear me, universe?," he yelled, straight to the clouds. "This is David Cook talking! Give me some rain! Come on! COME ON."

The thunder rumbled right before everything else and for a second David didn't know what was happening. But then came the rain -- the first few fat drops were warm, and then everything was coming down in sheets -- and David started to laugh.

"Oh, come _on_," Andy said, like he was disgusted with Mother Nature. David didn't care. He threw his arms around Andy, a big, wet bear hug, and kept laughing.

**

It was the biggest storm the city had seen in a decade. It took David ten minutes just to find an empty cab to take him to Carrie's place, and when he got there he stood outside, calling for her, until she opened her window and looked down at him. Her grin was enough to make the entire debacle worth it.

"Oh, thank god you're here," David said, rain cascading down, soaking every inch of him.

"My camping trip got rained out."

"I know," he said, "I'm sorry."

Carrie laughed. "It's all your fault?"

"Yeah, it is," he said, and left at that. He could tell her about it some other time.

"It's pouring, come up," she said, leaning back like she was going to go inside.

David shook his head. It was her turn now. "No, you have to come down."

"Why?" Carrie yelled, and then it was David's turn to laugh.

"Why? Because I made it rain! That's what I did today -- I _made it rain_. I did my part! Now get down here."

Carrie bit her lip, contemplating. "I'm not dressed, David, come up."

"I'm not coming up there, Carrie," he said. "You have to come down here."

She laughed and ducked back inside and David knew, he just knew she was on her way down.

Which was why, when she opened the door to her apartment, umbrella in hand, he was standing there, dripping all over her welcome mat.

She stopped short. "I was gonna --"

"I know," he said, and then he kissed her.

**

Sure, there was more after that -- the good stuff that the movies always fade to black for, mostly. A _lot_ of that, actually, but David doesn't think he'll tell his kids about that part. At least not until they're older. Like, way older. Plus, he'll need to save some time to tell them everything that happened after, like that lucky penny he found on the subway, and how Carrie had been Miss Teen Oklahoma and had gone on some insane mall tour across America when she was in high school, and a thousand other things. Because they're all good stories -- no, great stories.

He's pretty sure his kids are gonna eat them up.

 

**ii. so many foreign worlds (so relatively fucked)**

He knows it's bad as soon he answers the door. The look on Carrie's face is like a punch in the gut (which is something that David has unfortunately become very acquainted with these past few months).

"David, we have to go." There's an edge in her voice that actually makes David's hair stand on end, like every nerve in his body is suddenly on high alert.

"What? Why? Where?" He keeps asking questions as Carrie steps past him, into his apartment. She's all business, making her way to his bedroom with quick steps; David follows her and watches, dumbstruck, as she starts going through his things, tossing stuff into a pile on his bed.

"Where do you keep your suitcase? Something small. Like a duffel bag." Carrie opens his closet and starts pulling stuff out of there, too.

"Hey, what're you -- hey!" A pair of shoes. Some shirts. Jeans. A hat. It all gets chucked onto his bed. "Carrie, what the -- _Carrie_."

She glances up and he notices how truly wild-eyed she looks for a second, but she blinks and it's gone. He doesn't know if knowing that this whole thing's freaking her out too makes it better or worse. A little of both.

"You've been compromised -- _we've_ been compromised. So now we have to get out of here, get you some place safe, and --"

Carrie keeps talking, but David doesn't hear anything. It feels like he's underwater, everything slows down and goes real fuzzy, and he can see Carrie's mouth moving and he can hear noises but he can't understand anything. He sits on his bed, next to his pile of stuff, and tries to process it all. Compromised -- what does that even mean? What happens now? Where do they go? Into hiding? For how long? What about Andrew -- does he get to know anything, or is he going to get home from work and find an empty room, like he never had a brother in the first place? What if --

"David?" Carrie touches his arm and he flinches, startled. Carrie sighs softly and stops what she's doing to sit down next to him. She presses close, settling her body next to his like she's trying to transfer her calmness to him through osmosis. It might work if he didn't know that underneath it all, she's panicking too.

"It'll be okay."

"Don't," David says. He doesn't want empty promises. He knows this is bad -- if they're leaving, then it's automatic worst case scenario, and that's not just bad, that's really fucking bad. Saying it'll be fine is a lie. All he wants now is the truth. It's all he ever wants.

Carrie must get it, because she stops. They sit there for a while -- it can't be that long, because of the nature of the situation, but it feels like hours. Carrie rests her hand on David's knee and weirdly enough, that manages to calm him down more than anything. So maybe her osmosis plan actually did work.

"You gonna be okay?"

No. He nods anyway, staring at the Our Lady Peace tour poster on his wall. He might never see it again.

"Alright." Carrie pushes off the bed and snags David's duffel bag from the floor. God knows where she found it, but whatever, now's probably not the time to worry about the details. She chucks the bag at David and motions for him to start packing it up. "We're out the door in five. Let's go."

**

David was never supposed to fall in love with Carrie.

Then again, David was never supposed to be someone who needed twenty-four hour protection, so fuck it. Doing what he's supposed to do flew right out the window the second Johns sent him that goddamn email and turned him into a human supercomputer full of top secret info. So, yeah, he went and fell in love with his CIA handler. Shit happens.

**

"You know, if you think about it, this could be a good thing," David says, blinking against the glare coming through the windshield.

Carrie shifts into third and passes three cars. "Yeah?"

"Sure. I mean, I know _I_ could use a vacation. And you -- when was the last time you took a day off? Don't you need a little you-time?"

She cracks the tiniest smile; David feel victorious. She takes the next exit and spares him a glance.

"I hate to break it to you, but we're not going to the beach."

"Why not? Oh." David points to his pale skin. "Think I'll stand out too much?"

Another smile, slightly bigger this time, and David can't keep himself from grinning.

"Alright, no beach. So that leaves..." He watches Carrie watch the road while he thinks about all the places they could be going. Montreal. New York. Nowheresville, Nebraska. Anywhere, almost.

It's fucked up, but a part of him is excited about this. Not the whole "people want to kill you so they can steal your brain" part of it, but the part where he and Carrie are essentially running away together. Call it a silver lining.

**

The lining tarnishes when David realizes Carrie was driving him to the Castle so they could pick up weapons and Kris.

"Wait. He's coming too?" It's not that David doesn't like Kris, it's just that with him along it's going to be harder to convince himself that everything's fine, that it's a semi-romantic getaway for two. Kris is going to be a constant reminder that

"General's orders," Kris says, setting another gun onto the table. "Can't have the Intersect running around all willy-nilly."

"Damn, and that was my plan, too," David says, snapping his fingers. Kris chuckles.

"I need two minutes, three tops. You gonna give him the --"

Carrie nods. David looks back and forth between them.

"Give me the what?" Oh god, does he even want to know? Is he gonna get drugged again? Because the last time was _not_ cool and they promised never again.

Carrie touches his wrist and says, "Come on." David hesitates and she smiles reassuringly. "It'll be fine, I promise. Come on."

There's not really much space in the Castle -- they're crammed into what probably was a broom closet, before the place was converted into a full CIA/NSA headquarters. David can still hear Kris banging around down the hallway, loading up the cases, muttering to himself, while Carrie opens cabinets David didn't even know existed, looking for something. Her shirt's riding up in the back, this sliver of skin right there, and all he wants to do is run his fingertip along it. He starts mentally going through the chord progression for Billie Jean instead.

He's at the second verse when Carrie says, "A ha!" and spins around to face him. "Here."

She hands him a -- a necklace, David thinks that's what it is. It's a black flower and kind of giant and --

"I know, sorry," Carrie says, making a face. "It's pretty atrocious. But it's not like we had a lot of time."

"Thank you?" David's still pretty confused why she's even giving him this monstrosity in the first place.

"Here." Carrie motions for him to turn around so she can hook the necklace on for him. "It's a tracker," she explains. "We're pretty sure Fulcrum hacked into your watch, so we're going to send that one with a decoy and hope they follow it, and we'll have a team there waiting."

"Huh."

"David." Carrie takes a deep breath. Her hand still on his shoulders, thumbs resting against the top of his spine. "I know -- I know it's a lot to process in like, no time at all, and I'm sorry."

They're both quiet for a minute; David tries desperately to think of something to say, but he can't. Carrie fiddles with the clasp of the necklace, tracing the chain with one fingertip. When Kris clears his throat and Carrie drops her hands like she's been burned. David looks up see Kris leaning against the doorway, smirking.

"You ready to go?"

"Already?" David asks. It feels like they just got here. It's been like, five minutes.

"Yeah," Carrie says, squeezing past David and into the hallway. She slings a black bag over her shoulder while Kris grabs a set of heavy cases from the floor next to him.

"Rest is for the weak, Cook," he says. "We have to keep moving."

**

Kris wasn't kidding. They're on the move for what feels like forever, planes and trains and buses and in one really unfortunate incident, a boat. David stops knowing where they are after the first forty-eight hours. He stops asking after seventy-two, when Kris glares at him for the nine thousandth time because apparently asking "where the fuck are we _now_?" draws unwanted attention.

There's a situation at one of the airports early on -- they're all the way through security when half a dozen linebackers in suits start circling the gate. David knows it's bad because Kris gets real still and Carrie sits up extra straight and they do that thing where they refuse to look at each other or David. It's terrifying. David knows that he's not supposed to do anything to make a scene. He knows that he's supposed to stay calm and act normal, that he has to do whatever Carrie and Kris say without so much as blinking, but it's easier said than done. He feels like he can't breathe; when Carrie takes his hand he jumps a foot in the air.

She leans up and kisses his cheek -- just a normal couple going to visit family for grandma's birthday, that's their story, David could recite it in his sleep, all the way up to his fake grandma's middle name -- and says, "There's a door between the men's room and the Jamba Juice. We're going to go read the menu. After I leave, count to ten, and then go through the door. Got it?"

David nods quickly. He feels like he's going to pass out. Carrie rests her hand on his cheek, angling his head so he's looking only at her. "David, you can do this. Count to ten, go through the door. I'll be waiting for you. Okay?"

Everything goes to according to plan. David hides behind a pallet of boxes while Kris and Carrie take out the guys like a well-oiled machine, and then it's onto a Greyhound because they can't risk it, not now. He stares out the window, watching his reflection as the bus cruises through the desert. His heart rate doesn't level out until halfway through the ride.

It hits him somewhere after the Washington-Oregon border: this is for real. He's on the fucking run.

**

It's almost a week. David's exhausted and starting to question if Carrie and Kris even have a fucking plan when they stop at a hotel and Kris says, "This'll do."

"For now," he adds, but David doesn't even care. All he wants is to take a shower and sleep for more than four hours. He waits while Kris secures the room, checking the windows and the doors and the vents and god knows what else.

"Tapping your foot like that won't make this go any faster," Kris says at one point, while he examines the phone.

David doesn't apologize, but he does stop. He tilts his head back against the wall and closes his eyes. It feels like the first time he's stood still since Carrie showed up at his door.

"You're good," Kris says a few minutes later as spreads a map out on the tiny desk in the room, already trying to figure out their next step.

The shower's not as good as David had hoped -- the water's tepid and the pressure's kind of shitty. The shampoo smells like the stuff Andrew's girlfriend keeps at their place, and that sends David into a tailspin that leaves him five seconds from a sad-ass crying jag. He turns off the water then. That's enough of that.

When he gets out of the bathroom, he finds Carrie's sitting on his bed, flipping through the leather-bound hotel guide.

"Whoa, hi," he says, clutching the towel to his waist. She is _not_ supposed to be here. Sure, they checked in together, but Kris is the one he's bunking with. Carrie's supposed to be across the hall. "Uh. Where's Kris?"

She mimes a phone and says, "Seacrest." A second later she looks up and does a double take when she notices David's not dressed. "Um. Sorry."

"I just -- right." David grabs his bag and books it back into the bathroom, telling himself the entire time that there's no way her eyes lingered. No way.

Carrie's still a little flushed when David comes out in sweats and a tee. She's switched to one of the armchairs, too.

"I'm gonna --" he pulls back the sheets and collapses face first onto the bed without waiting for any sort of reaction from Carrie. It's still warm from where she was sitting on it. He presses his face into the pillow and wriggles into the mattress. He's pretty sure he hears Carrie say "sweet dreams," but he's asleep before he can respond.

He doesn't wake up until the next morning, when Kris shakes him and says, "Rise and shine, Cook. We have a bus to catch."

**

They work out a system: David never goes to the front desk. Carrie and Kris get separate rooms, David rotates whose extra bed he sleeps in. It works. It makes sense. It is what it is.

They eat in a lot of diners, IHOPs, Waffle Houses, because it's there or fast food, and Carrie always vetoes drive thru. It's better this way, though. There's something comforting about bacon and eggs and endless supplies of coffee.

"If you'd wanted fries, you shouldn't've ordered a salad," he says to Carrie, raising his arm to guard his plate.

She elbows him and says, "I just want a few."

"Ten minutes," Kris says. "I'll settle up now."

He snags a handful of fries from David and winks. While David's busy calling him names, Carrie steals the rest.

"Mother_fucker_," David says quietly.

"Maybe you should order double next time," Carrie suggests, reaching across him to swirl a fry through ketchup. She smiles brightly.

"Girlfriends," the waiter says, shaking his head sympathetically as he walks past. Carrie laughs and buries her head against David's shoulder. David presses his lips together and reminds himself to breathe.

**

It could be a lot worse, probably. They're all on edge, but it's not like they've found bugs in their hotel rooms or a gunman waiting when they step off a bus.

The problem is, the longer it goes on, the more David hates it. He hates hiding. Hates moving and buses and security checks and wearing the same four nondescript shits. Hates that he can't talk to anyone outside of Carrie and Kris. He hates the lying and the constant vigilance, hates his cover story and always walking fifteen steps ahead of Kris and his stupid fake relationship with Carrie. He hates that even after all this time he still kind of enjoys it, getting to hold her hand in public, lean against her in bus depots. He hates that they're settling into a routine. It feels like they're never going back.

He gets angry a lot, because angry is better than sad.

"Let's go, you and me," Kris says one night in Omaha when David's slamming drawers and cursing under his breath because the hotel doesn't get HBO. For a second David thinks he means let's go in a "three rounds, no gloves" kind of way and he's surprised how into it he is, even though Kris could knock him out in one. David might get a good hit or two in though, and that'd me more rejuvenating than punching a pillow.

But Kris grabs him by the collar and muscles him out the door and into an elevator.

"What the fuck?" David says, trying to shake loose. Kris lets go and David glares at him. Kris glares right back and David remembers just how intimidating Kris can be when he wants.

"You need to cool it," Kris says as the doors slide open. David follows him to the dinky bar at the lobby, surprisingly crowded for a Tuesday night. "Convention's in town," Kris explains, shrugging and signaling for two beers. David wonders if he planned it this way -- stay in a crowded hotel, get David out of the room for once. If he did, it's sweet, in a twisted way.

"Thanks," David says later, when he's slumped in his chair, head heavy with alcohol.

Kris shrugs. "We both needed it," he says.

"Yeah." David picks at the label on his bottle. "This sucks," he says with a sigh. "Can't we just --"

"Cook," Kris says warningly. David ignores him.

"-- give up? I don't want to do this anymore. If they haven't stopped Fulcrum by now --"

"_Cook_. Dammit." Kris kicks him under the table and signals for the check simultaneously.

"Ow. Fuck." He kicks back and Kris glares daggers at him. Normally it'd shut David him, but his censors are gone. "I'm serious. If the decoy didn't work --"

"We wait until it does," Carrie says, suddenly standing beside their table. "Nice one, Allen."

"Save it for later, Underwood," Kris snaps back. "Get him out of here."

"Come on." Carrie tugs David's arm, coaxing him out of the seat.

"Whoa," he says when he stands up. It takes him a minute to get his sea legs -- wow. He is a lot drunker than he thought.

"You good?"

David nods and lets Carrie lead him upstairs, her arm wrapped around his waist, their steps in sync the whole way. She doesn't talk to him at all, barely even looks at him. He can feel the tension in her shoulders, in all her muscles.

"That was really stupid," she says once the door's shut. "I can't believe you would do that. You know how important it is to lay low."

"The bar was _crowded_! We were careful! And besides, it was Kris's idea!"

"So you're both stupid," Carrie spits out. "God. You know better. What if -- what if something had happened while you two were living it up and I couldn't get there in time? We tell you to stay in the room for a reason, David, and that's to protect you. Not me, not Kris, but _you_. What happens when --"

Carrie's downright livid and all David can think is _make the room stop spinning_.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Really." He feels like shit; he kind of wants to cry. Or puke. Both. "But can we just -- can you yell at me tomorrow instead?"

That stops her mid-rant and she deflates like a balloon. "Fine, " she says. She turns on her heel and disappears into the bathroom. In any other situation, David would follow her, or say something, but tonight he doesn't have the energy to fight with her -- with anyone -- right now. He wants this whole thing to be over. He wants to go home. He curls up on his side and closes his eyes.

He opens them again when he hears the click of the bedside lamp switching off. Her face is all shadows. It all feels like a fucked up dream.

"I just want to go home." He sounds pathetic, even to himself.

Carrie rests her hand on his head for a second, palm flush against his skull.

"Go to sleep, David," she says.

**

Carrie wakes him up before dawn and stuffs his hungover ass into the backseat of a car. Kris makes a sympathetic face in the rear-view mirror when she slams the door shut and David winces. He spends the ride drifting in and out while Carrie and Kris quietly argue in the front seat.

It's a little like listening to his parents fight. It only makes his headache worse.

David flashes on a trucker while he's stretching his legs at a rest stop that evening -- Fulcrum, ex-sniper, did time ten years ago.

"What?" Carrie says immediately. She slides her sunglasses down her nose to peer at him. "Did you flash?"

David stutters, gasping for breath. He tries to motion toward the trucker without actually pointing. "F-fulcrum."

She swears under her breath and starts looking around for Kris. "Get in the car," she says to David. She reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out a gun.

"They're here for us," David says. "Well. Me."

"It's fine. It'll be fine." They've done this before. They'll do it again. It'll be fine.

She spots Kris and tilts her head. Nods once. David watches as Kris's body language changes completely; he casually changes directions. He's covering the rear.

"Stay in the car," Carrie says, and then she strolls off, heading right toward the semi.

David crouches in the backseat and waits. This sucks balls.

"We're clear," Carrie says, sliding into the front seat. She reaches back and rests her hand on his arm and smiles. David takes a deep breath and starts to calm down. He's never going to get used to this, is he?

**

"New plan," Kris says. He motions for David to roll down the window, and then he reaches in, slides his hand under David's necklace and tugs.

"_Ow_," David says as the chain snaps. He rubs the back of his neck.

"Kris, what the heck?" Carrie looks appalled.

"General's orders." He takes the necklace and tosses it into an empty car's open window. "Don't even think about running away," he says to David when he gets back.

David blinks. To _where_? He doesn't even know where they are.

"Wasn't planning on it."

**

They drive all night, until Kris finds a hotel that meets their criteria (two rooms, cheap, no questions). He waves to Carrie and David over his shoulder.

"I'll let you know when I hear from Seacrest," he says, and then he's gone, deadbolting the door behind him.

Carrie unlocks their door and pushes inside, only to stop short. For a second, David's brain is overloaded with worst case scenarios: someone's waiting for them. There's a bomb. A body. All three.

It's none of those things, though.

"Um," Carrie says, staring at the only bed in the room. It's weird that after everything they've been through on this trip, _this_ is what throws her for a loop. Because frankly, David's surprised it hasn't happened sooner. They've been lucky.

"Well," he says, stepping into the room and locking the door behind him, "at least it's me and Kris again."

Carrie laughs first and raises her eyebrows second. David stammers. "Uh, not that that happened. Because if it did, I certainly would've been sworn to secrecy."

"Mm-hmm," Carrie says, smirking.

"Shut up."

Carrie laughs and starts her sweep of the room. David sits on the foot of the bed and flicks through the TV channels. He lands on an infomercial -- it's that or _Casino Royale_ and at least the Slap Chop doesn't hit too close to home -- and slouches against the pillows.

Maybe it's the quiet, or the exhaustion, or the end-of-the-day adrenaline crash, but David finds himself sliding headfirst into the pit of Horrible Thoughts -- what's going on at home? Is Andrew okay? Did he believe the note David left about driving up the coast with Carrie? What if they can never go back? Where are they going next? How long can they keep this up?

"Hey. Hey." Carrie crawls onto the bed and kneels next to him. Her hand is warm on his leg.

"Soon," she says. Their faces are so close together. "Trust me."

He nods. The sunrise is starting to come through the curtains, painting Carrie with streaks of light.

"Soon," she says again. David lets himself believe her.

**

When he wakes up, the first thing he realizes is that it's still light out. And then, that he's pressed flush against Carrie, his face against her neck, their legs tangled together.

He stays very still for a minute, breathing it in, memorizing everything about it -- the softness of her hair against his cheek, the way his knees fit into the curves of hers, her hand resting on top of his on her belly, her skin smooth where her tank top's ridden up -- and then he slowly starts to move away.

Carrie shifts when he tries to slide his hand out from under hers, and he's acutely aware of how she leans back into his chest. And instead of letting him move away, she threads her fingers through his, anchoring him to her.

His brain's still sleep-addled and hazy and he can't believe any of this is real, like maybe it's just a dream and he'll wake up tangled in the sheets, curled away from Carrie.

But it's not, it's real, one hundred percent, and Carrie's thumb slides deliberately over his, over and over.

David presses his forehead against her bare shoulder and takes a deep breath, and then Carrie's turning, her body pressing against his, their noses inches apart. They stare at each other for an eternity, like they're waiting for something to happen. The air is buzzing, almost, like all the adrenaline from yesterday morning is rushing through his veins again, and when Carrie licks her lips David thinks, _fuck it_.

It's a desperate sort of kiss, months of want suddenly rushing to the surface, and even as she licks his lower lip and arches up into him, even with his hand in her hair and his hand sliding down her side, he can't believe it's happening. He never wants it to stop.

Carrie hooks a leg around his and tugs him on top of her. David tries to push the sheets down and push her shirt up at the same time, but it's two different directions and he gives up to concentrate on kissing her again, until they're both breathless.

When they break apart, there's a moment where Carrie touches her forehead like she can't believe any of it either and David thinks this is it, it's over. But then she smiles and touches his cheek with her other hand and he can't help the grin that threatens to split his face in half. They're doing this. They're actually fucking doing this. He leans down and kisses her, again and again, smiling against her lips. She plays with the waistband of his boxers, running her fingers along the elastic, and David groans into her mouth, pressing her farther back into the pillows, covering her body with hers.

"Don't move," he says, trying to kiss her and crawl backwards off the bed at the same time. "Don't. Move."

Carrie laughs as he practically leaps across the room -- a feat, really, in his state -- tripping over his own feet and the comforter and nothing at all. His wallet's still in his pants, which are in the bathroom, puddled on the floor right where he left them. Instead of his emergency condom, though, there's a folded up piece of paper.

_I.O.U ONE CONDOM -- NEAL_

Son of a _bitch_. David is going to murder him. If he ever sees him again.

"Listen," he says, opening the bathroom door. Carrie's right there, and David's about to make a joke about telling her not to move when he notices Kris.

"Guess what?" Carrie says. There's a weird edge in her voice, halfway between happy and sad.

"The necklace worked. You're going home," Kris says. "Saddle up."

It's the one thing David's wanted to hear for days, and it somehow manages to sound like the worst news he's ever gotten.

David stares at Carrie in disbelief, until Kris says, "For real, dude. Put on some pants and let's go. We've got a plane to catch."

**

Kris drops them both off outside David's complex.

He and Carrie end up standing side-by-side on the sidewalk for a full minute, like they're waiting for the effing bus. It's weird -- David spent the entire trip wishing for this moment and now, well. It's taking all he's got to put one foot in front of the other.

Carrie looks at David and asks, "Ready?"

He shrugs. Is he ever?

"It'll be fine." She squeezes his hand reassuringly. "Trust me."

She doesn't let go.

 

**iii. now everything's technicolor**

When Kelly says she's going on the eighth grade class trip to Cedar Point instead of the one to Rome, Carrie doesn't believe her. They've been talking about the trip since they were in second grade and Carrie's oldest sister got to go to Rome. But Kelly just shrugs and talks really fast about love-love-loving rollercoasters and not speaking Italian and Ms. Abdul is chaperoning that and at least she's not terrifying like Mr. Cowell and Carrie gets it, that all those reasons are covering up the fact that Kelly's parents can't afford to send her on the trip. It still stinks though.

"You're still going, right?" Carrie says to David, after Kelly throws away her lunch and leaves to go finish the math homework she hadn't started.

"Brought in my permission slip today," he says with a mouth full of turkey sandwich, so it doesn't really sound like English words. Carrie sighs. At least he'll be there. It won't be the same, but, Two Musketeers are better than one, right?

"Hey." David kicks her shin and waits 'til she looks up. "I bet I can make Mr. Cowell threaten to have me deported before we leave the airport."

He grins, that same stupid smile he gave her when he asked to look on with her in social studies the first day he moved to Tulsa, and she has no choice but to smile back.

**

Mr. Cowell totally threatens to have David deported before they leave the airport -- in _America_, even. As soon as he says it, Carrie dissolves into giggles. David ends up snorting from trying so hard not to laugh.

"Do I have to separate you two?" Mr. Cowell says tiredly. They shake their heads and try to be as quiet as they can while standing in line to board.

David lets Carrie have the window seat because she's never been on a plane before and he's flown loads of times. During take-off he holds her hand and tells her a story about Andrew falling into their aunt's swimming pool at their cousin's graduation party to distract her. And once they're in the air, he leans over her and taps on the window.

"Check it -- that's your house."

Carrie presses her forehead against the cold plastic and squints. All she can see is the wing.

"I can't even see anything."

David laughs and he's leaning so close she can feel his breath on her cheek. "Made you look."

Carrie pretends to be mad at him for five whole minutes, until he pulls out the catalog in the seatback pocket and starts reading it out loud, every item more ridiculous than the last. She reads over his shoulder, pointing out the things she wants -- a remote control car for her dog, a floating plastic iceberg for the pool she doesn't have -- and laughing.

The flight goes by quicker than she thought it would. They eat dinner and watch movies and get yelled at by Mr. Cowell for kneeling on their seats to talk to the kids in the row behind them during the layover in DC. Somewhere over the ocean the cabin lights get dimmed and Carrie falls asleep.

When she wakes up it's still dark. She's using David as a pillow; he's surprisingly comfortable. She thinks about moving, because what if she's drooling or cutting off circulation to his arm or something, but then David's head tips to the side so his cheek's resting on her head and there's really no sense to move now. She'd just wake him up.

She closes her eyes and drifts back to sleep, the hum of the plane strangely comforting.

**

"No switching. No complaining. No fraternizing. No rough-housing."

Mr. Cowell goes on and on while he hands out the room keys. Carrie gets stuck with Fantasia, who's only like Carrie's number one sworn enemy in school, but whatever. She is _not_ going to let that ruin her trip.

"I sleep much better in total silence, so if you snore --"

"I don't snore," Carrie says, angrily hanging a jacket in the closet. So not letting it ruin her trip.

"Are you sure?" Fantasia asks.

There's a knock on their door and Carrie answers it. She'd be happy to see Mr. Cowell at this point, anything to shut Fantasia up.

It's David. Even better.

"Come on!" He grabs Carrie's wrist, hurrying her out the door and up three flights of stairs.

"Whoa! David, what are you --"

"Don't worry."

He pushes open a door marked ATTENZIONE and suddenly they're outside.

"Where are going?"

David pulls her a few more feet, to the edge of the roof, and says, "Look."

Spread out before them is the whole city. "Wow," she breathes out.

"Pretty cool, huh?"

Carrie nods. She feels different up here, like she can do anything or be anything or _something_. She turns to David.

"Promise me something?"

He shrugs. "Anything."

"Promise me that we'll find adventures while we're here."

David smiles. It makes the corners of his eyes go all crinkly. He nods and slings an arm across her shoulders. "You and me, adventures -- deal."

**

The problem isn't that there aren't adventures -- Carrie knows they're out there, waiting to be had. It's that Mr. Cowell is an adventure-blocker. Like he wants this to be the most boring trip to Italy since before Nero burned it down or whatever. Her sisters had both come back from their trips talking about all the cute Italian boys they'd met and the awesome things they did, but Carrie isn't going to meet anybody or have anything awesome happen if she spends the whole time stuck on a bus playing I Spy with David while Mr.Cowell talks about another stupid old building.

It's officially the lamest trip to Italy ever.

**

"The Trevi Fountain," Mr. Cowell announces. "People come from all over the world to make a wish and toss their coin into the fountain. Those people are suckers."

It's still boring, but at least they're off the bus.

Carrie tugs on David's sleeve and motions for him to follow her. They slip away from the group until they're close enough to the fountain. She pulls a coin out of her pocket and offers it to David.

"I'm in Rome with my best friend. I'm good." He nudges her with his hip. "You make one."

She closes her eyes and wishes harder than she's ever wished for anything in her entire life. Then she tosses the coin into the water and turns back to David.

"What'd you wish for?"

"I can't _tell_ you! Then it won't come true."

David pokes her side, right where he knows she's the most ticklish. She squirms out of the way and accidentally bumps into someone.

"I'm sorry!"

The guy -- oh, of course he's the cutest guy she's seen on the trip. Of _course_ \-- stares at her. Oh god, this is mortifying.

"Isabella?" he says.

"Huh?" Carrie looks around, but he's definitely talking to her.

"I'm sorry. You just look an awful lot like a friend of mine."

Carrie's distantly aware of Mr. Cowell yelling that it's time for gelato and a head count. Not in that order. But she can't stop staring at the guy.

He smiles and her stomach flips over. Did her wish -- does the fountain work _that_ fast?

"I'm Michele. Michele Pescatore."

He holds out his hand, but when Carrie goes to shake it, he raises her hand to his lips and kisses it. For a second she forgets her own name.

"Oh. I'm Carrie. Underwood." David coughs to cover his laughing. She glares at him. "And this is my friend David."

"This is my friend Seacresto," Michele says, gesturing to the man in sunglasses and a suit standing a few feet behind him. "Seacresto, doesn't she look exactly like Isabella?"

Seacresto nods once. All of a sudden someone in the crowd yells, "Michele! Isabella!" and then _everyone's_ yelling it, pointing at Carrie and taking pictures and jumping up and down. Michele grabs her hand and they follow Seacresto to somewhere slightly less chaotic.

"Thanks," she says when he lets go of her hand. He smiles down at her. He's so... tall.

"So that was weird," David says, a little out of breath from running. "Anybody want to tell us what's going on?"

Seacresto pulls a magazine from the newsstand behind him. He passes it to Michele, who flips through it and then hands it to Carrie.

"Holy crap." David peers at the magazine over Carrie's shoulder. "That's --"

"Isabella," Michele says.

Carrie touches the picture. "Wow. She looks just like me."

"Except for the hair, you could be twins," David says. He's right. It's like staring at a picture of herself in a brown wig. It's freaky.

"She is my singing partner," Michele says. "And you're like her sister."

"So you're like, a band?" David asks. "Mike and Isabella."

"Michele."

"Yeah, I'm gonna call you Mike." David ignores the glare Carrie shoots at him. Michele smiles, though.

"Carrie, can I see you again tomorrow?" he asks.

"Uh." Oh god, she really wants to say yes.

David's watching her carefully. He sighs. "It's okay. I can cover for you."

And then Mr. Cowell's three feet away, yelling about head counts, and Carrie says, "Oh my god, we have to go!"

"Tomorrow morning at the Trevi Fountain!" Michele calls after her. "I will wait for you!"

**

It's nighttime before Carrie's heartbeat returns to normal. She finds David laying on his bed listening to his iPod. He starts when she jumps on his bed next to him.

"This Mike and Isabella CD isn't half bad," he says, sliding over to make room for her. "I mean, if you're into the dark, brooding, I-never-go-out-and-my-life's-a-black-hole-of-depression kind of thing, you'd hate them. For driving-around-in-the-car-with-the-top-down, loving-life kind of thing, they're good. Here, listen."

He holds out an earbud and Carrie takes it, laying back and tilting her head close to David's. He's right -- it's fun, happy music. She likes it.

"Yeah, not bad." She hands the earbud back to him.

"Your hair smells good."

"What?"

"What?" David echoes. "Never -- never mind."

Carrie frowns but lets it go. She has more important things to talk about. Like, "So Michele wants me to meet him at the fountain tomorrow."

"You should go."

He makes it sound so easy.

He elbows her side gently. "Weren't you the one who said we were going to have adventures on this trip?"

"Yeah, we. _We_ were going to have adventures."

David pauses for a minute before he says, "And we will." He looks at her. He's so close their noses are almost touching. Carrie feels like she's going cross-eyed. "It just so happens you have dibs on the first adventure."

When he smiles, she smiles. She can do this.

Carrie pushes herself up. "I think I'm getting sick." She coughs and David laughs. She tries it again, only this time with more hacking and a pitiful expression.

David's roommate walks in. He doesn't even seem surprised to see her there. Then again, Kris isn't surprised by much.

"Oh, hey, Carrie," he says. "Do you feel okay? I could hear you coughing all the way down the hall."

She looks at David, who's making a face like _told you_. It's too much. She falls forward, pressing her face into David's pillows to smother her giggles. David pats her back and reassures Kris it's probably not contagious.

**

Mr. Cowell's harder to convince than Kris. He even calls in a doctor, but Carrie makes her best pathetic faces and coughs a lot and it works. She waits until everyone's gone to sneak back to the fountain.

Michele's waiting for her, Seacresto with him again. She thinks it's weird and a little sad that his friend follows him everywhere. Like, doesn't he get bored? But when she says that to Michele, he just laughs and explains that Seacresto is his bodyguard.

"So you see, Carrie, between me and Seacresto? You are always safe," he tells her. "Come. You should see Roma the way Romans do."

They spend all day together -- he takes her through the city on his moped, pointing out a million different things. It's so much more fun than sitting on a stupid bus all day. Especially when they stop for gelato and Michele tells him about what happened with Isabella, how they dated and broke up and Michele wants to go solo and do more serious music, not the same pop stuff they've been doing forever, but Isabella is refusing to let him.

It's sad, really. That Isabella's crushing his dreams like that. It's not fair.

"And so when I saw you, I thought that you..."

Michele trails off.

"What?"

"Nothing. It is crazy."

Carrie laughs. "It can't be _that_ crazy. Tell me. Please?"

"Isabella and I are supposed to present an award together. At the European VMAs. But now she is refusing to appear and the record company, they say that they will sue if we do not do it."

"Oh."

"So when I saw you yesterday I had the crazy idea that you could pretend to be Isabella and present with me."

"Present the award? Like, on stage?" just the thought of it makes Carrie want to throw up a little. Like, on TV? For all of Europe? That's... That's so many people.

Michele nods. "See, I told you, crazy. You don't have to --"

He looks so sad, though, and in the back of her head she hears David telling her she has dibs on the first adventure, and, well --

"No. It's -- if it'll help you and Isabella then." She takes a deep breath. "I'll do it?"

"Sì?"

She nods. "Sì."

Michele lifts her up when he hugs her, twirling her around in the middle of the crowded sidewalk. Even Seacresto smiles at Carrie.

**

David doesn't believe it when she tells him the plan.

"That's crazy! _You're_ crazy!"

"I know!"

David shakes his head and holds up his hand, pinkie extended. "Don't get deported."

**

She fakes sick again the next day. It's easier, because at least this time Mr. Cowell doesn't call the doctor.

Michele takes her to a stylist to choose a dress for the show. There's a runway and mean lady who's nothing like Tim Gunn, but Carrie still leaves feeling like a supermodel.

Basically, it's amazing.

When she gets back to the hotel, David's waiting with another Italian tabloid. He doesn't even wait for Carrie to finish her story about how she totally stood up to the Italian Nina Garcia and got a custom-made dress out of the deal. He just shoves the magazine in her face and says, "You might want to take a look at this," all snotty.

There's a picture of her on the cover. Carrie starts freaking out. "That's me! I'm on the cover of a magazine!"

"Yeah, do you know what it says?"

She stares at him blankly. It's in Italian, of course she doesn't. Duh.

"Mike and Isabella are supposed to sing at the awards show."

Carrie shakes her head. "It's gotta be a mistake."

"I had some Italian girls translate it. Mike --

"Stop _calling_ him that!"

"-- didn't tell you? Don't you think it's a little weird that he tried to hide it?"

"Maybe it was a last minute thing."

"Aren't they planned like, months in advance?"

She doesn't know why he's being so weird about this. Isn't he happy for her? God. "When did you become an expert on award shows?"

"It's called common sense," he says, angrily, "Which I have a lot of to make up for my lack of the slow curve."

"What?" Now he's not even making sense.

"Slow curve. Kris says -- forget it. If you want to believe some Italian kid you think you know after two days because he's an international superstar, is really rich, and has great hair, be my guest."

He leaves, slamming the door behind him. Carrie sits on the edge of her bed, staring at the magazine, until Fantasia comes in. She tries to shove it under the pillows, but she's too slow.

"I know you're not sick," Fantasia says, with her eyebrow arched. "I know what's going on."

"You do?"

"Well I know you had your eyebrows done _and_ you got a manicure today, so. Spill."

The whole thing comes out -- not about the fight with David, or the singing, but everything before it -- and when she's finished, Fantasia is quiet for a real long time.

"You don't believe me, do you?"

"Oh, I do. I'm just trying to figure out how _you_ got _my_ dream trip. Well played, Carrie Underwood. I think I've underestimated you for all these years."

Carrie looks at the magazine cover and tells herself this is the best thing that's ever happened to her.

**

Michele picks her up that evening -- he'd promised her dinner and the Tivoli Gardens before sunset -- but Carrie can't stop thinking about everything David said. Before she gets in the car she says, "Michele, uh, are we supposed to sing?"

He nods. "Sì."

"What?" Carrie's eyes bug out of her head. David was right? All along? "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I wanted to, but you said not to call the hotel." He smiles at her and Carrie feels all her anger start to melt away. "Come. We don't have much time. We have to get you back by ten."

At the gardens, the whole story comes out -- he'd told the press that Isabella was having vocal problems, so they weren't going to have to sing at the show, but when the pictures of Carrie started showing up then everyone found out it was a lie and now he can't not sing.

"So now I have to?" The butterflies in Carrie's stomach start flapping like crazy.

Michele smiles and pushes a strand of hair behind Carrie's ear. "You will be fine."

"But I can't sing."

He leans close and whispers, "Neither can Isabella."

Wait, what? Carrie leans back and catches Michele smirking.

"See, me? I can sing no problem -- la la la," he jokes. Carrie laughs. "But Isabella, she needs the help to sing."

It takes her a minute to understand what he's telling her. "So... Isabella lip-syncs?"

"Shhh." He presses a finger to her lips. "Promise you will tell no one."

Carrie nods.

"So you see, you will have no problem tomorrow."

"I guess. But... I still don't know the song."

Michele smiles and takes her hand. "Come. We will practice."

He brings her to an empty rehearsal hall and spends the rest of the night teaching her the words and the dance steps. The secret to it all, Michele says, is to really sing. So that way, the lip-syncing _looks_ real. He looks surprised when she actually sings, like he didn't think she would sound so good.

"I'm in choir at home?" She doesn't tell him she's never had a solo. That the _idea_ of a solo makes her queasy.

"Then you will not need to be nervous at all."

He's kind of right, she realizes. If she's just lip-syncing, what's the big deal? Rehearsing is fun in a scary way, the kind where the butterflies in her stomach never start flapping, but it only makes her smile harder.

She gets back way later than curfew, but she doesn't really care.

Fantasia's still awake, painting her nails.

"Oh, good, you're up!" Carrie collapses her bed happily. "Fantasia, it was the most amazing night. Let me go get David so I can tell you both together."

She stands up again and that's when Fantasia says, "You won't find him."

"What? Why? Where'd he go?"

"He's probably getting on the plane right now."

"What?"

Fantasia looks up from her nails. "Mr. Cowell was looking for you. David totally covered for you and got himself kicked off the trip."

"Why would he _do_ that?"

Fantasia looks at her like she's the stupidest person in the world. "You're seriously asking that question?"

Carrie sighs. Of course he'd do that for her, he's her best friend. She has to fix this.

The concierge tries to call the airline to see if David's flight left, but he ends up on hold and it's no help at all. It's no use -- she's too late. David's probably on his way home already.

Carrie ends up crying herself to sleep. She's officially the worst best friend in the world.

**

"I'm going to turn myself in," she tells Fantasia the next morning.

"What? You can't."

"I have to!" It's not fair. _She's_ the one who should be going home, not David.

"Carrie, if you do that, then everything David did will be for nothing."

Fantasia's right. Carrie falls back into bed and pulls the covers up over her head. At least she won't have to fake sick today. She feels horrible.

**

Carrie goes to the awards show that night and tries not to think about David getting sent home or how nervous she is to sing or anything that might make her want to cry.

The excitement of everything -- getting her hair and makeup done, her completely awesome, beautiful dress -- even manages to take her mind off everything but the fact that she's at an awards show with like, actual famous people.

Michele finds her beforehand, when she's panicking about having to sing in front of all these actual famous people.

"Calm down," he says. "You can do this. You will be great, I know."

Carrie's not so sure. "But how do you know?" she asks, a little desperately. She's never been so nervous before in her life.

Michele smiles and takes both her hands, kissing them like he did the first day they met. "Because you shine like the light from the sun."

Just like that, Carrie's not so nervous anymore.

Someone comes running up and whisks Michele away, yelling in Italian. Carrie's watching them go when she hears someone call her name -- her real name, not Isabella like everyone else here calls her. She spins around.

"David? What are you doing here?"

"It's a long story, not important right now. You need to listen to me."

"I feel so bad about what happened. I can't believe you would do that for me."

David shakes his head, frustrated. "Carrie, you need to listen. Mike is setting you up."

"No, he's not -- what are you talking about?"

"Actually, he's setting me up." Isabella steps next to David. He points his thumb at her, smiling at Carrie.

"Freaky, huh?"

Carrie nods.

"Look," David says, "That whole thing about Mike going solo? That's Isabella. He's the one who lip-syncs. He's a liar. It's all be a ruse to get you to sing on stage and make it look like Isabella can't sing."

Isabella nods. "It is true."

Carrie can't believe it. "He would never do that to me. You're lying."

David sighs and scrubs a hand over his face. Isabella takes a step forward and says, "Carrie, who are you going to believe. This boy you are knowing your whole life, or this boy you are just meeting who says, 'you shine with the light of the sun.'"

Carrie gasps -- how did she? Isabella nods. David looks at the ground.

"Fine, then _you_ sing," Carrie says.

"No, he will know it is not you, you have to do it. We have to get back at him."

"But how?"

In the background, someone starts calling for her. Oh no.

"Go," Isabella says. "Everything will be fine. I have a plan."

Carrie goes. Her nerves come back a billion times worse.

**

The announcer calls out their names and the crowd cheers. Carrie steps onto the stage and for real thinks she's going to pass out. She can hear the music in her earpiece, the tinkling piano just like when she and Michele practiced. He smiles at Carrie and then turns to the audience to sing the opening line.

And then it's Carrie's turn.

Here goes, she thinks, and then Isabella's singing her part from the side of the stage while Carrie mouths along. It works -- no one knows the difference. Well, except Michele, who looks horrified. Especially when he sees Isabella.

She smiles and waves at him. He pales and then, in the middle of his verse, Isabella gestures to someone offstage to cut his mic, and the whole crowd gasps at how bad he sounds.

A part of Carrie feels so stupid for believing him. The other part of her is just glad to see him not get away with it.

Isabella walks out onstage, singing. The crowd cheers. "Sing to me, Michele," she says.

He does, horribly, off-key and screechy. The whole crowd boos and he flees the stage. Carrie and Isabella smile at each other for a minute before Carrie figures this is as good a time as any to leave.

"Say buonasera to my new American friend, Carrie Underwood!"

Carrie freezes. What is Isabella _doing_?

"Michele tried to use her to fool all of you into thinking I could not sing. Do you want to hear us sing?"

Judging by the cheers, they do. Everything feels so much louder and brighter suddenly; Carrie feels like she can't breathe.

Isabella is smiling at her and behind her, just off stage, David is smiling at her too. He gives her a thumbs up and she shrugs at him. She's the one who wanted an adventure, right?

Isabella takes Michele's part, so Carrie sings what she knows and it's really, _really_ amazing. The crowd gets super into it, clapping and cheering, and Carrie forgets to be scared at all. Until Isabella leaves her out there alone.

"Wait!" Carrie says, chasing after her, but Isabella motions for her to stay, to keep singing. Carrie tries to bolt in the other direction, but David's there, holding his hands out for her to stop.

"Go," he mouths. "Sing. You can do it."

The way he smiles at her makes her feel weird, but in a good way. Like rehearsing with Michele had. He points to the crowd and Carrie already knows the song and the dance, so. What the heck, right?

As long as she lives, she'll never forget the thrum of the crowd when the song ended.

**

Of course when it all ends she's in boatloads of trouble. She's grounded for the rest of her life, basically.

But when they're done with the third degree she spots David from across the hotel lobby and follows him into the elevator.

"One last sneak-away? For old time's sake?"

David stuffs his hands into his pockets and follows her up to the roof. It's even prettier than it was their first day here. They lean against the railing and watch the night sky.

"So, are you gonna miss it here?" David asks.

Carrie shrugs. "I don't know. Fantasia says I should have my stuff shipped over and stay here forever, 'cause it'll never be the same once I leave."

David laughs. "She's wrong, as usual." He bumps Carrie with his shoulder and then stays pressed against her like that. "You didn't have to be in Rome for all this stuff to happen."

"You think?"

He looks at her and smiles. "Trust me. You had it in you the whole time."

Carrie watches him for a minute. He's pretty much the reason this whole thing happened -- without him, she would've just been some girl bored on the back of a bus in Rome. But David, god, David almost got sent home for her. He's like, the best person she knows. She kind of loves him a little bit.

"David?" she says, hesitantly. They're super close all of a sudden. The butterflies are back and she's pretty sure David's looking at her mouth.

"What?"

She kisses him. His lips are kind of chapped but their noses don't bump and he kisses her back and it's really, really nice. She kind of wants to do it again. She giggles a little when they break apart, just because.

"Thanks," he says.

Carrie feels like her face is going to break apart from smiling. "You're welcome."

They stand there for a minute, staring goofily at each other, until David says, "Yeah, um, want to get back inside? So we don't get in more trouble?"

Carrie laughs. "Yeah. I can't afford any more trouble."

In the elevator, David's hand find hers and he smiles at her. Carrie grins back.

Best. Trip. Ever.

 

**iv. i get too tired after midday lately**

They're at the same 19 party in LA, because that's the way it always happens. David hasn't seen her in awhile -- they've talked, sure, all the time practically, but this is the first time they've actually hung out since. Well. In a long time.

The suits start to leave, eventually, and that's when the shot glasses come out. Mike's leading the room in a chant -- "Jägerbomb! Jägerbomb!" -- egging Kim on (and yeah, whatever, maybe that's happening again, who knows. David was desperate not to show up alone) when Carrie catches David's eye across the room and tilts her head. He nods once and follows her all the way up to the roof.

It's a lot quieter up here, just the two of them.

"It's getting kind of crazy down there," Carrie says, crossing her arms tightly against her chest.

David laughs and nods. "Kimberly! Kimberly!" he chants quietly, just like Mike had. They sure were fast friends; what that says about anything, David doesn't know.

Carrie laughs. "Sometimes I just don't get Mike," she says quietly. It seems sudden, like she didn't mean to say it.

David blinks at her, because yeah. Sometimes he doesn't get Mike either, but that's mostly in a 'Carrie's engaged to Mike, what the fuck, why him?' kind of way.

"I mean. I don't know," she says.

David stuffs his hands into his coat pockets. When did LA get so cold? He watches her face for a long time, wondering if this is his moment. But how do you say "break up with him" and not sound like a total jackass? You can't. That's his problem.

"So," Carrie says. "What's it like dating a --"

"Hey now," David says, laughing. Carrie giggles. David rolls his eyes. "Well." She's not you, he thinks. He ends up not saying anything at all. It's quiet for a long time -- too long, almost. Long enough for David to take a deep breath and think fuck it, say it.

He looks away from the skyline -- Carrie's watching him, and when he looks at her, she knows. She knows everything. He knows she does, because it's written all over his face.

"It's cold," Carrie says, rubbing her arms. "I should go inside."

She doesn't wait for him.

**

David goes back in eventually. He tries not to look at where Carrie's standing, tucked under Mike's arm like she belongs there. The bottom of David's beer is pretty fucking interesting, though. Or at least he's pretending it is.

But the laughing and chattering wear him down and he needs to get away from it all. He asks for a new drink and takes that one outside (not upstairs, somewhere different, oh god, he hopes he never has to see that roof again), far away from where Carrie's showing off her ring. (She's been engaged for months now and David's seen the stupid diamond a million times. How are there still people who haven't seen it at all?)

So he sits outside, alone, and thinks bitter, angry thoughts that he doesn't often let himself think, because he doesn't want to be that guy. Even though that guy is exactly who he is.

Neal finds him there, drowning his sorrows like a pathetic jackass.

"What's your problem?" he asks, leaning against the brick.

David sighs and waves his hand. "Nothing."

Neal snorts. David flips him off and Neal rolls his eyes.

"Nut up, David."

Now it's David's turn to roll his eyes, because in what world is it that simple? Carrie's the nicest, warmest, best girl he knows and he's liked her forever and now. Well. "She's engaged, asshole."

"BFD, engaged ain't married," Neal says. He takes a long pull from his beer and waits. Let's David absorb it all. Then he claps him on the back and leaves him there, thinking.

**

Neal's right -- engaged _isn't_ married. But David also isn't a douche, so he lets things with Carrie slide back to how they were, only a little less. Like he's holding her an arm's length away. He kind of hopes she won't notice that he's doing it.

They're both in LA for extended periods of time now -- new albums and Idol beckoning -- and once upon a time it would've been a dream come true for him, but now it's torture. Carrie calls all the time, bored without her usual friends, and now he's her go-to distraction. Movies, lunch, whatever, they're hanging out all the time and it's fun, but sometimes she'll fall asleep on his shoulder or grab his hand to lead him somewhere and David can't help it, the rush of longing that takes over. He hates how it happens ever damn time. He knows he should probably start saying no when she calls, but never does.

Which is how he finds himself roped into actual fucking wedding planning.

Not much could be worse than being forced to help someone choose between ecru or eggshell for the invitation color. It's the fucking tenth circle of hell.

"Shouldn't Mike be doing this?" he asks one day, as close to a fit of rage as he lets himself get.

Carrie sighs and shrugs. "He says this stuff's the boring part, I can do whatever I want. He's going to pick the band, though," she adds, like that's a real load off her mind.

"Besides," she says, bumping her shoulder against his, "You're better at it than he would be."

David forces himself to smile.

**

His agent calls --

"They're asking if you want to play a benefit in New York City in June. But rumor has it _someone_ declined because of personal reasons, previous plans and all that. Just thought you'd want all the facts in case you wanted to save the date."

The last part is pointed, there's no mistaking it. David thinks about it for a minute.

"No," he says, "It'd be an honor to play. We'll do it."

**

Idol brings all the past winners in for a meeting, brutal, mind-numbingly boring stuff about branding and Idol Gives Back and fuck knows that drags on and on for hours. David's not even sure what they're talking about, but he _is_ five for five on shooting tiny paper balls into Fantasia's coffee cup.

He's been sitting next to Carrie through all of it, trying not to focus on the way her upper body sags into his the longer the presentations run. It's half working.

There's a break halfway through the morning, thank god, and they both beeline for the comfortable chairs at the other end of the hallway. Carrie sprawls out, stretching her limbs, while David makes her laugh with tired impersonations of the judges.

"That was the most horrid thing my ears have ever lived through," he says with a British accent. "I didn't hate it."

Carrie stops laughing pretty quickly, and David hears, "Is that supposed to be me?"

"Oh, hey Simon. Uh. We were just goofing around."

Simon sighs, looking back and forth between David and Carrie. "That was atrocious," he says, before turning on his heel and leaving.

They wait a full five seconds before they say, in unison, "That was atrocious."

"Jinx! Buy me a Coke," Carrie says excitedly.

Shit.

He hasn't done this since he was in fifth grade. He rolls his eyes and opens his mouth to protest but Carrie says, "Uh-uh," and glares at him. So David makes a big show of leading her to the vending machines at the other end of the hall, putting his money in and pressing the Coke button. Carrie cracks up when SOLD OUT flashes in red. David can't fucking believe it. He steps over to wheresomeone's secretary is sitting, typing quickly, but Carrie grabs the back of his shirt and says, "Nope."

David glares at her and she shrugs.

"You can't have an assistant find one for you, David. You have to _buy_ it, and you can't talk 'til then. Those are the rules of jinx and they are unflinchingly rigid."

She grins at the end of it and David hates her and loves her at the same time. He's ready to drag her downstairs, to check the other vending machines, but then the break's over and they're being herded back into the conference room.

It drags on and on until they get another break (if they got fewer breaks, maybe it wouldn't take the whole day, he thinks, because come on) and David's planning on checking all the vending machines in the building but Jordin corners him and once she starts talking, she never stops. David doesn't know what she's even talking about, it's just words, all fast and running together, and when Carrie comes over and says, "Hey, what's going on?" David makes his best HELP. ME. face.

"We're just talking," Jordin says.

Carrie's eyes crinkle like she's holding in a laugh and she says, "Okay, well, they're getting ready to start up again," and David thanks God for small favors until she says, "But there's still some time so y'all should definitely finish your conversation," and David really wishes looks could kill right now. Jordin turns back to David and starts talking again; Carrie winks at him.

David practically sprints back to the conference room when the break's over, ready to sit and not have to find a way to nod convincingly for a while, so course this is the start of the interactive portion of the meeting. David glares at Carrie as soon as someone asks for their opinions on the video they just showed.

Taylor's talking about how he really liked their vision of him in the retrospective, but he feels it was a little harsh, maybe, just a tiny bit, when Carrie raises her hand.

"This isn't a classroom, Carrie," the guy in charge (David thinks he's in charge, at least. He's been talking the most) says.

She blushes slightly and David chuckles. She glares at him and then says, "Oh, I don't -- I mean, I liked it, it looks great. I just think David had something he'd like to say."

David pales. He presses his lips together and closes his eyes to shut out the stares coming from everyone in the room. He can practically _feel_ Carrie smirking at him.

When he opens his eyes they're all staring expectantly. Palms flat on the table he opens his mouth like he's going to say something, and then shuts it quickly. He presses a hand to the bridge of his nose and inhales audibly -- let them assume he found the whole thing overwhelming. He kind of did -- they played up the rocker going through family issues angle in the clip package, it could work.

And miraculously, it does. Kris leans over and claps David's arm comfortingly. David smiles at him as weakly as possible, and then takes another deep, shuddering breath. He pushes back from the table shaking his head, silently excusing himself.

As he's leaving, he catches Carrie's eyes bugging out of her head and he almost loses it laughing.

Carrie's ducking into the hallway a few minutes later; as soon as she sees David she starts laughing.

"Fake crying! I cannot believe you did that," she says. "I underestimated you."

David grins and doesn't think about how hot she looks right now, in jeans and a sweater, her hair in a messy ponytail. It's times like these he's glad he won't be at her wedding; if seeing her like this affects him, goddamn, a wedding dress would be murder. Probably. He doesn't like to think about it.

Carrie nudges his knee with hers, waiting for him to scooch over so she can sit on the couch next to him.

"What?" she says. David shakes his head. "Did you want to tell me something? You look like you want to tell me something." He shakes his head again, biting his lip so he won't smile at her teasing. He has to maintain some semblance of annoyance at this whole thing.

But Carrie won't stop pressing. "You look like you have something really important to say and you just can't for some reason," she says, her hand resting on his knee.

More than you'll ever know, David thinks. He smiles at her and she squeezes his knee lightly.

"Come on, you can tell me. David, you can tell me anything."

Suddenly it's not so funny. David stops smiling and looks at his lap as everything that's been shoved down inside rushes to the surface. He fights to tamp it back down, fights as hard as he can, but. Well. It's never hard enough.

The dynamics of the whole thing change suddenly, just like that time on the roof, and now Carrie isn't laughing either. She's looking at him weird, like that time they were hanging out and Kyle got drunk and told her David was in love with her. It hadn't been that long ago --David'd played it off like Kyle was exaggerating, said he'd had a crush on her when they first met, but that he was over it. Carrie'd nodded, but the look on her face had been doubtful, worried, and that's what it's like again now. She takes her hand off his knee carefully and excuses herself to go to the bathroom. David tips his head back and presses the heels of his hands into his eyes. What the fuck is wrong with him? He doesn't want to be there when Carrie gets back, he knows that much. So he goes back into the empty conference room and waits.

He's still the only one there when Carrie gets back.

"Here." Carrie sets a soda can down on the table next to him. "Just buy it from me."

David raises an eyebrow, confused. Carrie sighs.

"I haven't talked to you in hours and it's been weird and I _know_ you have a million things to say about that stupid montage." She nudges the can closer to David; he shifts in his seat so he can dig out his wallet. He hands her a dollar and some quarters and then picks up the Coke and hands it to her.

"Hi," he says, finally.

Carrie smiles down at him. "Hi."

"How much time do you think we have before they start up again?"

"Ten minutes?"

"Awesome." David smiles and stands up and holds the door open for her.

**

One of the details David missed at the meeting -- they kept the conversation going without him, he's so glad he means that much to the company -- was about a mandatory all-Idol photo shoot for EW.

David hates photo shoots in general, but all nine of them crammed under the lights? Jesus Christ. They're all hot and overworked and cranky and it doesn't help that Carrie's fielding calls from her wedding planner, stepping outside every five minutes.

"Jesus, some of us have other places to be," someone mutters under their breath, and David catches himself nodding. He's trying to be happy for Carrie, but the closer the wedding gets the more irritated he becomes. Whatever.

"I know, right? So annoying. Do it on your own time," he says without thinking. Shit. He turns around to see who said it, and of fucking course it's the reporter there for the article. "Uhh. That wasn't -- I didn't mean that. "

The guy nods. "Of course you didn't. I'm actually supposed to be interviewing her right now, but since she's preoccupied and you're here, would you mind if I --"

"Oh yeah, sure," David says, motioning for him to sit down. And it turns out the guy's pretty cool -- he's easy to talk to and prepared with questions better than "so what's your next album going to be like," and really that's all it takes to win David over.

Just as they're finishing up, Carrie slips into the seat next to David. She flashes an apologetic smile at the reporter and says, "Sorry. It's a crazy time."

"Not a problem," he says.

"He got someone infinitely more interesting to replace you," David jokes. Carrie laughs and smacks his thigh. "Abuse!" David says. "There's your headline -- Former Idol Beats Other Idols, Literally, to Stay Atop Charts." Carrie hits him again as he reaches over to shake the reporter's hand.

"Thanks again," he says. David nods and stands up. He's barely five feet away when he hears, "So we have an unnamed source quoted as saying that all your wedding planning during Idol events was obnoxious," and he almost falls over. Son of a bitch.

Carrie finds him outside later and she's livid. The only good news is she thinks it was someone else entirely. "I bet it was Taylor," she's saying, while David tries not to throw up. God, he wishes he smoked, because a cigarette would probably really help right now. "I mean, what the hell? I'm _obnoxious_? Sorry if my busy schedule is taking away from your precious spare time. I _wish_ I had spare time. "

David doesn't even think she's talking to him anymore. He watches her pace back and forth, fists clenched, and doesn't say anything until someone comes to bring them back inside.

The last thing they have to do for the day is a group picture. It looks like a yearbook photo almost, all of them in two rows, Seacrest on the side like their teacher. The photographer's positioning them and when he tells Carrie to turn, some of her hair hits Taylor in the face. He sputters, understandably, and takes a step back. It'd be no big deal normally, but today is far from normal.

"Sorry if that's, like, obnoxious," Carrie spits out, smoothing her hair down in the back.

Taylor looks at her like she's lost her mind. "It's... okay?" he says, confused.

"Carrie," David says, because privately hating on Taylor was one thing, but this?

"Because if something's bothering you," Carrie says, "we should talk about it."

"Carrie, no," David says, louder.

She turns to him. "No, we should," she says, determined, and then looks back at Taylor. "You shouldn't go around --"

"Carrie, it wasn't him."

"What?"

"It was me -- I'm the one who complained about you."

The light meter flashes and Carrie faces the camera, but not before David sees her face fall.

"I didn't think he was going to write it down. I was just venting. It was just -- it was stupid. I didn't mean it. It was like..."

"Okay," Carrie says. Her voice is small and broken and David -- fuck. He reaches out to touch her shoulder but thinks better of it.

"Oh boy," Kris says quietly, and then the photographer is telling them all to smile, but all David wants to do is die.

**

They never actually talk about what happened at the photo shoot. By the time they show up for the Idol Gives Back soundcheck things are practically normal. They spend the morning convincing Taylor that David has telekinetic powers and sitting in her dressing room, mocking videos of wedding bands (Carrie had said, "Mike's supposed to do it, but he's really busy planning the bachelor party right now, so..." and David had taken the DVDs from her and made a joke about how the people in those bands had never given up on their dreams and they at least had to _watch_ the videos and, well. It hadn't sucked) while they wait for their cue.

He leaves rehearsals happy -- well, as happy as he can muster these days. Tomorrow they're announcing a bunch of extra tour dates, some surprise shows that are kicking everything off a few weeks earlier than originally planned. He can't wait to get back out on the road. Okay, it sounds like running and hiding, but it's not. It's work. Never mind that he personally asked for those extra dates. Whatever. He's just got a lot of excess energy these days, and performing'll help burn it off.

The actual show is a lot to deal with. Carrie's dress and her hair and the way she leans into him when she sings, so close he can see the sheen of sweat on her skin, Jesus. David has to keep closing his eyes mid-performance and at one point he completely blows the chorus. He should've told the producers he didn't want to do this duet. He's getting good at making excuses these days, he probably could've come up with a legitimate-sounding one.

The song ends and Carrie hugs him tightly, doesn't let go until Seacrest taps her on the shoulder. He steps between them and David feels like he can breathe again, now that doesn't have to look at her and sing about love overcoming everything. She waves at the audience and when David follows her eyes he realizes it's at Mike and then he misses whatever the hell Ryan is saying.

It doesn't matter. Seacrest is a professional -- he smooths right over the pause, makes a joke about David being distracted and the whole audience sighs when David apologizes with, "Sorry. It's just -- it's an emotional night."

Carrie hugs him once more in the wings and they split up. David ducks into the dressing room he's sharing with a few of the other guys and wipes his face with a towel. His phone starts ringing and he has to spend too long trying to find it. How it got kicked under the couch he'll never know, but whatever.

"What's up?" he says when he sees Neal's name on the screen.

"Saw you on TV."

"Yeah?"

"Didn't suck," he says. David snorts.

"Thanks so much."

It's quiet for a beat -- long enough that David considers hanging up -- and then Neal says, "Have you told anyone about the tour starting early?"

He doesn't mean anyone, he means someone in particular, and he doesn't mean telling her about the tour, either, but David didn't answer his phone to have a fucking heart-to-heart. "No."

"Well you should," is all Neal says before he hangs up.

They both know he's right. David leans forward on the couch, head in his hands. He's leaving soon and when he gets back Carrie'll be married and then what? Then he's completely SOL. At least this way -- he has to try, right?

**

When David finds Carrie she's in the doorway to her dressing room talking to Mike.

"Sorry, babe, I'm just beat," he's saying. So he's begging out of the after-party that David knows Carrie's been excited about for days. Awesome.

"It's okay. I'll see you at home."

Mike leans down to kiss her cheek. When he turns to leave, he sees David standing there. "Hey, Cook. Keep an eye on her for me, alright?"

David nods. "Of course."

Mike claps his shoulder and, with a final "See ya," to Carrie, he's gone.

"How's it goin'?" David stuffs his hands into his pockets.

"Good, especially since I just sang circles around you."

"Yeah. Hey, can I talk to you about something?"

"About when you want to reprise our little act?"

David smiles halfway. He loves when she's in this kind of mood. Normally he'd banter right back with her, but this isn't normal. God, nothing is ever normal with them anymore, is it?

"No," he says. "I --"

"Did you want to talk to the producers right now? I bet they could squeeze us in next week. Maybe you won't blow your notes then?"

"I'm in love with you."

Carrie blinks. The smile disappears from her face. "What?"

"I'm really sorry if that's like, weird for you to hear, but I needed you to hear it," David says.

"What are you doing?" she says quietly. She looks -- shocked? Horrified? David can't tell, and that's the worst part of it all, how she just shuts down. "What do you expect me to _say_ to that?"

David shrugs. He bites down hard on his tongue and tries not to cry. He says, "I just... needed you to know."

"I can't," Carrie says, and it sounds like she's about to start crying, too. Christ, he really hates himself.

"Yeah," David says. He knew that. He's always known.

Carrie starts to say something about how much his friendship means to her, but he can't -- he can't handle that right now. He can't really handle _anything_ right now. She's apologizing to him and fuck.

"I'm sorry," he says one last time, right before he walks away.

**

So of course he goes after her. She's one of his best friends and he left her crying in the hallway -- on the douchebag scale, he's at an eleven right about now. Out of ten.

He takes a good ten minutes to wallow and then he starts looking for her. Her phone goes straight to voicemail, which isn't surprising. He'd block all his calls too. Her stuff's still in her room though, so he knows she has to be around here somewhere.

He hears her before he sees her. She's standing on the darkened stage, still in her dress from the performance, one arm curled around her waist while she talks on the phone. She looks so tiny it makes his heart hurt.

Everything about her makes his heart hurt these days.

"About 10 minutes ago," she's saying. "No, I didn't know what to say. Yes, I know. I don't know, Mama, he's my best friend. Yeah, he's great. Yeah, I think I am."

David makes his way towards her. When she sees him she says, "I have to go. I will," and hangs up.

"Listen, David --"

He doesn't know when his game plan changes from apologize wholeheartedly (yes he does -- it was right when she told her mom he was her best friend, her voice shaky like she didn't know what to do, and if David knew at that second it was now or never) to kissing her senseless, but it does and that's all that matters.

He doesn't say anything, just cups her cheek with one hand and kisses her. It's hesitant at first -- he's waiting for her to pull away, to push him away, something -- but then Carrie's kissing him back, sliding her hand up his chest, leaning into him, and it's everything David's ever wanted out of his stupid life.

He keeps kissing her because he doesn't know what to say when it stops. He hopes this is enough to change her mind.

**

It's not.

David leaves for tour three weeks later, on the same day Carrie and Mike's wedding invitation shows up in his mailbox.

**Author's Note:**

> i. this modern love | bloc party  
> ii. creature fear | bon iver  
> iii. what dreams are made of | hilary duff  
> iv. elevator love letter | stars


End file.
